Windows down, we speed along the highway toward the hotel.
For our wedding night.
The unseasonably warm breeze feathers my hair and cools my hot neck, but I’m a bundle of nerves. Weeks ago my sisters sat me down for the world’s most awkward conversation to answer my questions and clarify logistics for me. But that’s what I’m concerned about—the logistics. I know how everything is supposed to work in theory. But I’ve never been great at converting theory into practice.
Maybe the fact that Damon’s a little more experienced should comfort me, like having a driving instructor when you’re in a student driver vehicle for the first time. But instead it just makes me more jittery. He’ll have something to compare me to.
My greatest fear is that afterward he’ll be thinking how I didn’t measure up. How it was better with someone else.
I haven’t told him this, of course. Women are supposed to be confident and self-assured and all that garbage. Isn’t it a turn-off to be vulnerable in this area?
Damon and I are mostly silent during the drive, both lost in our own thoughts. The closer we get to the exit, the more I’m gnawing on my lip. Maybe I should tell him I forgot to pack something and need to run to Walmart to purchase a duplicate, like . . . ChapStick! You can never have too much ChapStick. Besides, chapped lips would be distinctly unromantic. Really, he would thank me for picking up a spare.
Or I could . . . fake sick or something—buy myself a few hours in the ER while they track some phantom illness. Yes! I could say I’m seeing purple spots and hearing a ringing in my ears—
Coward.
I can’t avoid him forever. But what if it’s so bad he wants to get an annulment or something? Is that possible with a temple sealing—can you get an annulment?
Vividly an image comes to my mind of waking up tomorrow morning alone in the hotel bed and finding a note scribbled on the nightstand:
Dear Jack,
I really thought this was going to work out . . .
Okay, stop it! Now you’re just being ridiculous.
“You okay over there?” Damon asks.
Startled, I turn and nod too vigorously. “Sure, sure, sure, sure,” I babble. “Just, you know . . . thinking.”
“You nervous?”
Dang mind-reader.
“Nooooo,” I say emphatically. “Me? Nervous? Not at all. Not a nerve in sight. Not a single one. No way. No waaaaay.”
Damon chuckles and reaches for my hand. “It’s normal to be a little edgy.”
I don’t meet his gaze as I ask, “Were you? Nervous before your . . . first time?”
“A little,” he admits. “But I was trying not to think, not to feel. It was about forgetting, not feeling.” He pauses and gives a short laugh. “I’m sorry. Not exactly romantic honeymoon talk.”
“It’s okay.” I venture a glance at him. “I appreciate you being honest.”
“It’ll be different,” he says as he steers the car off the freeway.
Different? What’s he mean by that? Different bad? Has he already predicted that? Different like he’d rather have a root canal?
My lip is practically raw by the time he parks the car outside the hotel.
Together we selected for our wedding night the Castle Creek Inn—a small hotel with only a handful of romantically themed rooms: the Rapunzel Room, the Garden Room, and so on. We toured the place a few months back and selected our room, the Romeo and Juliet. Cozy and romantic. Working fireplace.
My breath is starting to get shallow.
Damon tells me to wait and gives me a peck before heading to check in. Anxiously I tap my fingers against the dashboard and then touch up my makeup.
Far too quickly—are they going for a check-in record or something?—Damon is back. I’m about to open my door when he stops me. “No, hang out another minute. I’ll take the bags in.”
“Oookay,” I respond as he hauls our overnight bags out of the back seat. I don’t know why we can’t just carry them in when we go, but fine.
Again time seems to pass in a flash, and soon he’s returned. He opens my door for me like a gentleman and weaves his fingers through mine as we make our way into the hotel.
The lobby is deserted except for the smiling receptionist, who says a cheery, “Welcome!” before letting us pass. They must see a lot of honeymooners here and know not to be real chatty.
We pass the doors of other rooms, and suddenly I’m wishing we’d picked a hotel with a lot more rooms. Like maybe a hotel on the side of a mountain that required a lengthy hike. But we’ve already arrived outside our own door.
“And this is why I brought the luggage in before,” Damon says. Then, smiling, he sweeps me off my feet into his arms. “So I can carry you across the threshold.”
“Wait—wait!” I say just as he’s about to open the door.
Expression clouded, he sets me back on my feet. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just . . .” I fan my hot face with both hands. “I’m just . . . freaking out a little.”
Instantly he looks concerned. “Jack, do you not want to—”
“Of course I want to,” I insist, glancing behind me to be sure we’re still alone in the corridor. This is not a great place to be having this conversation, but I’ve got to say this before we go inside. “I’m just . . .” I take a deep breath. “I’m afraid . . .”
Damon catches my face gently. “Of me?”
“No.”
“Then, what?”
“Of . . .” I can’t meet his gaze. “Disappointing you.”
“Oh, Jack.” Cautiously he raises my face so my eyes meet his. “You could never disappoint me. Never.”
“But . . . what you said in the car. That it would be different.”
He laughs softly. “I meant that in a good way! With those other girls it didn’t mean anything—just a whole lot of regret after. With you . . .” He tenderly traces my cheekbones with his thumbs. “It’ll mean everything. It could never be less than wonderful because I love you. Us together will be an expression of that.”
“Then you won’t be comparing me?”
“There is no comparison.” He kisses me gently, forehead pressed to mine. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I say, breathing deeply the smell of him. It calms me.
“So.” He pulls back. “You ready to try this threshold thing again?”
“Sure. Although I might have gained ten pounds since this morning. You’ve been warned.” I manage a smile. “I love you.”
“And I love you. So that’s all that matters.” He lifts me into his arms again, adding, “Promise” as he steps over the threshold.